


...I have a boyfriend, and he is all BLUE

by GreyPigeon



Series: Godspeed You! Blue Emperor [5]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Blood Donation, Counselling, Domesticity, Emotional Manipulation, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mobkita, Mutual Pining, Nude Modeling, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Sickfic, Underage - Freeform, dubcon, non-specific eating disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29335476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyPigeon/pseuds/GreyPigeon
Summary: After Madarame's imprisonment, Yusuke is left alone to salvage what's left of his life. He manages to find lodging in Kosei dorms, true, but that's only one of the problems he is faced with. Trusting his newfound friends comes with difficulty after years and years of abuse, none of the social services do their job properly, money runs out, and everything seems to spiral out of control....Somebody stop the world from spinning because Yusuke wants to get out.[Dark sickfic, happy ending. Fasten your seatbelts.]
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Kitagawa Yusuke, Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira, Kitagawa Yusuke/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Godspeed You! Blue Emperor [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743862
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	...I have a boyfriend, and he is all BLUE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NoonoosKitchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoonoosKitchen/gifts).



> 1\. YO, listen up, here’s the story about a little guy that lives in the blue world, and all day and all night and everything he sees is just blue - inside and outside ;)   
> Those who figured where the title comes from probably were alive in the 90s and know that Eurodance was the shit; if not, don’t trash me in the comments, respect the elderly XD And read the tags, you're here on your own volition.
> 
> 2\. This fic is a direct continuation of “Merry Christmas, Mr. Madarame”, but all the bits and pieces from “Four Walls” are also important.
> 
> 3\. Immense thank you to [Crystalline Ace ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystallineAce) for the thoughts, corrections, grammar check, and patience.
> 
> 4\. This is a birthday gift to [NoonoosKitchen ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoonoosKitchen/pseuds/NoonoosKitchen), my treasured friend. I hope it will deliver on all the sweetness and magic of shukita, offering you comfort and some intensified heartbeat, and despite the obligatory hardship, this will also have a very happy ending. I hope it will satisfy The Queen of Fluff!  
> Please check out Noonoo’s works, especially my fav [fic ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25633510).

**~*~**

  
Yusuke was waiting in a mostly empty, concrete corridor of a prison waiting area, tapping his foot on the floor nervously. 

The place was barely furnished. The windows had an iron crate in them, and that alone gave Yusuke an uneasy feeling. The walls - painted sickly brown - had a sterile, glassy sheen; Yusuke knew it was practical, as oil paint was easier to clean, but he couldn’t help but compare this waiting area to a hospital. 

The plastic seat Yusuke resigned himself to after more than an hour of waiting was cracked and uncomfortable, and the uneven edge of it was digging into his thigh. Yusuke sighed and looked around again.

There were five more people here, all similarly dispirited. Some were sitting in a huddled group far away from Yusuke, one other man was treading the linoleum floor from one wall to the other as if it would magically speed things up. Yusuke shifted restlessly, let the back of his head hit the wall. Looking at those people and thinking of their own dramatic reasons to be here was only making him agitated. 

...Thinking of which, why did he even bother? With everything he had to shoulder right now? Why did he go through all of those complicated formalities, paperwork and phone calls, stuff he knew nothing about, (stuff he _wanted to know nothing about,_ ) just to be here? It was such a huge task, and it had drained him completely when he should have been busy trying to salvage what was left of his life. It was too much to ask to sit here, in the smelly waiting hall of Tokyo Fuchū Prison, awaiting entry to a secure room with a guard breathing down his neck, just to see his former teacher. The very man who ruined it all. The person who robbed him of everything and everyone. _The murderer of his own mother._

Yusuke really did not need that on top of everything. And yet, when faced with the demand, he still did as he was told. 

He couldn’t understand it himself. He had so many things to attend to. So many errands to run, documents to submit, questionings to endure, parcels to move. Yusuke kept fidgeting, his thoughts jumping from one issue to another; there was the logistic problem of moving his things from Madarame’s shack to Kosei dorms. It’s not like there were that many things he owned, but the art supplies and canvases alone took up a lot of space and it was uncomfortable to even pack them. He couldn’t afford to rent a car and move it all in one go, but on the other hand, he certainly could not afford wasting several days doing it piecemeal. He had classes and assignments, which did not suddenly become less demanding just because he was in trouble - some of the teachers were sympathetic, but surely not all of them. In fact, Yusuke had an impression that some of the professors, especially those more closely tied to the fine arts department, were frowning upon him ever since he was questioned by the police and gave his testimony. 

The worst problem of all proved to be the issue of money, though. Yusuke kept tossing and turning at night, worried at what might happen when he runs out of it entirely. He had a couple of job leaflets with him even now, trying to figure out how he was supposed to squeeze in a part-time job on top of his current predicament. What could he even be doing, anyway? He was no good for any physical labour, he had no expertise apart from painting, no technical or computer skills, and his social awkwardness would make it very difficult for him to make a good waiter or a salesman. _What a failure I am,_ Yusuke thought, feeling cold creeping up his spine. _Pathetic. I’m no good for anything._

_Could it be that Madarame was right all this time…?_

“Tohru Yoshikawa?” a guard spoke loudly, opening the door with a creak. The pacing man stopped in his tracks and looked at him. “Room four. That way. Miaka Ito and family? Room six… be mindful of the time limit, Ma’am. It’s the room over there.”

Discreetly, Yusuke sighed with relief. _Not me, not yet. I don’t have to see him yet. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…_

“Kitagawa Yusuke?” 

He froze. 

“Room five. If you could hurry up, please.”

Yusuke stood up mechanically, his feet carrying him across the linoleum floor behind the guard. He saw a door swing open in front of him; the visitation room was barren, just a plastic chair in front of a partition wall constructed of concrete and plexiglass, with a round opening for the voice to travel through. There, behind the glass, huddled and glum, sat Madarame. Grey overalls, greasy hair. Hands folded on his lap, eyes downcast.

When he saw Yusuke, his face lit up; he straightened in his chair, sending his foster son a tentative, fleeting smile, which looked completely alien and unknown. Yusuke’s knees buckled just from seeing that smile. Madarame put both hands on the countertop, the cuffs on his wrists glinted slightly; he fidgeted on his seat, getting ready for the conversation.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, I c-can’t do this,” Yusuke stammered in a small, terrified voice, his feet refusing to budge, all but glued to the floor. “Please forgive me. I’ve changed my mind. I cannot be here.”

The guard scoffed, irritated; a shadow of confusion appeared in Madarame’s eyes as Yusuke took a step back, then another. 

“Sorry, excuse me, I’m… I’m sorry, please, I have to leave,” the words spilled from him faster than he intended. He couldn’t think nor focus, overwhelmed by an urge to run, to hide from that smile across the room, to stop seeing this small, broken man in a prison garb looking at him with clear expectation, with hope mixed with anxiety. 

“You absolutely sure?” The guard’s voice was unpleasant. “Once you go, you’ll have to file for seeing him all over again.” 

“I _don’t want_ to see him,” Yusuke whimpered, shaking his head. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I _don’t want_ to be here.” 

“Very well,” the guard rolled his eyes and let go of the door, which fell closed slowly, cutting off the sudden shock that painted itself all over Madarame’s face. Yusuke turned around and practically ran through the corridor to the heavy doors at the end; he stood there, waiting, with his hands wrapped around his middle as the guard followed leisurely, fumbling with a keycard to let him out of the department. 

**~*~**

The front door of the shack was sealed off with the vivid yellow tape.

Yusuke felt his stomach do a violent flip flop. Abandoning the empty suitcase he had carried here all the way, he ran through the garden in a few long hurdles to see if the back door would still be available - but here, too, everything was closed. Yusuke rattled at the door, tugged at the handle with growing desperation, but a big padlock wouldn’t budge. The police had done its work and secured the evidence inside the shack for further inspection.

...With everything Yusuke owned locked inside.

Well, almost everything. He had managed to transport some clothes, art supplies, a couple of books. He had everything he needed for school, a phone, ID and the most obvious personal items he could have thought about when first preparing to sleep in the dorms, but that was about it. 

The biggest canvases, a couple of works-in-progress, the art albums, reference materials - still there. A comforter or a blanket, change of linen, towels, clothes, shoes - still there. Anything he could have wanted to take from the kitchen, a pot or a pan - still there. Yusuke sat heavily at the doorstep and dropped his head between his knees. He had to catch a breath.

He recovered eventually, coming to a conclusion that it didn’t matter. At least now he had one problem less - he could stop thinking about the move. 

The back yard looked as apathetic as usual, maybe even more so, because he had neglected to do much gardening this year. Wilted grass covered the ground in uneven patches, and the muddy winding path was all dirty and overgrown with dry weeds. The old plum tree creaked in the wind, still barren. Maybe the woodworms had finally done the job, Yusuke thought. Maybe this whole shack will soon collapse, like this abandoned tree. Maybe it would be for the best. 

Yusuke covered his face in hands, feeling completely, utterly at a loss. 

What the heck he was going to do with himself.

**~*~**

The Shibuya train station was, as always, packed with people. Nobody paid attention to a person with a suitcase standing alone at the far end, leaning on the colorful wall of the grocery store; he was blending right in. The sea of bodies rushed unbothered and unstoppable, to whatever destination; tiny specks of individuals were creating a bigger whole, even if only for a second, before each of them picked their own direction and was washed away in a myriad of currents, inconsequential like driftwood. 

Yusuke tried to watch them, fish out interesting faces and force his mind to focus on something else, just for a while. But in the absence of a sketchbook he could only try to memorize profiles and silhouettes, which was not working at all. He felt static in his head, dry buzz and crackling; any mental effort seemed like a drag, and the usual noise of the hub was too tiresome today.

Maybe he was hungry. Ren told him to be wary of that, to take care of himself, to watch out for fatigue and lethargy, to get enough sleep. Yusuke promised he would. The thing was, he could not explicitly say when he was hungry or lethargic; it seemed to come and go in waves, without any particular reason, and on some days it was a constant. To be honest, very often he had trouble noticing dizziness, nausea or cold. He was so out of tune with his body and so unaccustomed to reading the signals it tried to send that he ended up ignoring most of them anyway. 

But he had promised. Ren seemed to be very anxious about this, so Yusuke folded and promised he’d try.

The thought of Ren brought forth the cosy, warm image of LeBlanc. Yusuke knew that going there would make him feel better, even if all he did was loiter around the entrance. He would see the face of his mother, and the sight alone would make him a bit warmer, a bit less… lonely. Though there was probably one more reason to feel less lonely when in LeBlanc, Yusuke smirked to himself, heading towards the gate and readying his railcard. _Beep._

He hit the barrier, which didn’t immediately open. Anxious not to make the person behind him irritated, he quickly swatted the railcard on the scanner again; _beep._

Nothing. _Beep._ The barrier remained in place. Completely confused, Yusuke looked at his card, but in a hurry couldn’t find any fault in it, so he stepped out of the queue to let other people pass; he got a couple of unfavourable stares, but at least no one commented.

Yusuke stepped a bit further away, inspecting his ticket. When the realization hit him, he _could_ recognize the feeling. This he knew - this was anger.

Through the rush of blood in his ears and the feeling of tightness in the neck, he cursed his own idiocy. His railcard had expired. He simply did not notice it in the morning - he had to buy a separate ticket to Fuchū Prison, which wasn't on his usual line. Now he was stuck here with an empty suitcase, having achieved nothing that day, downstruck with an additional expense which wasn’t factored in. 

He looked into his wallet. Vacancy. The allotted sum for the day had been spent, he only had a couple of hundred yen in change. Yusuke fought down the urge to laugh out loud in the middle of the station.

...He couldn’t buy a ticket, but he could theoretically afford a bagel. 

Ren wanted him to eat. He said he wants Yusuke to be okay.

Yusuke dragged himself to the small corner bakery and emerged with a single bagel in a paper bag. He sat down on one of the benches; he could as well rest beforehand, if he was supposed to trudge to Kosei dorms on foot. Nibbling on the small bun, he glued his eyes to the pavement, so that the only thing he could watch were people’s shoes, and forced a bite after bite into his mouth, wishing it would help and stave off the migraine that was probably coming.

**~*~**

He must have dozed off. 

People were still passing him by, unfazed, hurrying God-knows-where. Yusuke sat up straight, looked around in disorientation; something fell from his lap and bounced off his shoe. 

It was a white, elegant envelope, with delicately printed corners - filled to the brim with single train tickets. 

Yusuke rubbed his eyes; was this a dream? Who would do that, who would give him that…? Did someone watch him...? Yusuke raked both hands through his hair, looked around again trying to filter through the crowd. He tried to recognize a face, a familiar jacket or maybe a hairstyle, but there was no clue. 

He glanced at his phone. It was past six o’clock; he must have really been worn out, because he was asleep for a good hour. But how could he have just fallen asleep on the station like that…?! 

Completely embarrassed, Yusuke tossed the half-eaten bagel into his bag and grabbed the suitcase. He bolted towards the gates.

**~*~**

Leblanc never failed to deliver. Just by entering the narrow street it was sitting on, just by seeing the orange light leaking from the entrance onto the murky evening Yusuke could feel his world shift. The scent of coffee and spices wafted towards him as he swung the door open. At the tinkling sound of the bell, Ren’s face lit up in a smile.

“Yusuke,” he put away the milk jug and gestured towards the bar. “I didn’t know you had a free evening. It’s good to see you,” he offered. Sōjirō reciprocated a polite bow and nodded a greeting in Yusuke’s direction.

“It’s… not exactly a free evening,” the artist muttered, “I just really felt like coming over. I’m sorry if I’m a bother, though…”

“It’s no bother,” Ren put a fresh saucer and a tall cup in front of him. Yusuke climbed on the bar stool and allowed himself to sink into it, the quiet ambient of the café and acceptance in his friend’s eyes already doing wonders to his mood. “I’ll make you a latte. Would you like to eat something?”

Yusuke just sighed uncomfortably; Ren seemed to understand. 

“You can serve your friend the meal you’ve cooked today,” Sōjirō spoke from above the newspaper he was browsing. His voice was perfectly inconspicuous, but it made Ren freeze above the big pot of curry. “...Though on the other hand, it would be best if he actually ate something. Serve the usual.”

“...Thank you, Sōjirō -san.” Ren mumbled, a bit downstruck. 

Yusuke arched an eyebrow in question. “Are you learning how to make curry?”

“Trying to,” Ren bridled, putting a full plate of aromatic, thick stew with rice in front of Yusuke. “So far? It’s a tragedy. I don’t think I’ll get it.”

“You will,” Yusuke grabbed a spoon eagerly. Just the scent of this was enough to spark his dormant appetite. “I’m sure you’ll get better.”

“And I’ll waste a couple billion yen worth of produce while doing so,” Ren braced himself on the counter not to look at Sōjirō, whose loud _harrumph_ followed from above the newspaper. Yusuke smirked into the curry.

“I have wasted a lot of canvases in my life.” He said reassuringly, but then hesitated. “...Maybe even all of them.”

Ren nudged his hand with a finger. “Hey. What’s wrong.” His eyes were concerned. “You look a little rough around the edges, did something happen?”

Yusuke hesitated; he swallowed a spoonful with effort, wondering how much should he share. 

“The atelier is sealed,” he said finally. Ren frowned, taken aback, and Sōjirō lowered the newspaper to give him full attention. “The police taped it all off, everything is closed, no way to get in. My things are still stuck there, I… I guess I have enough to survive for now, but…”

“They didn’t inform you beforehand?” Sōjirō asked angrily; Yusuke flinched. “This is how it’s done now, this is what they call _according to the procedures_?” He scoffed. “Kid, did anyone contact you about this?”

“...No,” Yusuke curled a bit into himself. 

Sōjirō threw the newspaper on the counter, staring hard. “Did you call the precinct?”

“When I got there today, it was late afternoon… I’m going to try tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll help you if you come over tomorrow. They are more likely to take an adult seriously.” Sōjirō scoffed, patting his pocket for a pack of smokes. “I’m going out for a bit. Don’t burn down the shop.”

Ren nodded meekly, and Sōjirō stepped out to the chilly alley. Yusuke glanced at Ren with an unspoken question, but the boy just waved it off, the tips of his ears going slightly pink.

“...So I might have burned the pan a bit, and… I might have mistaken the jar of curry spice with saffron powder. I’m going to work it off, don’t worry,” he said, and Yusuke really smiled for the first time that day. His face almost hurt with how unfamiliar it felt, the unused muscles suddenly pulling the corners of his mouth upwards. 

Ren smiled with him, rubbing his nape, then put a hand on top of Yusuke’s palm. “...Are you okay? You really look bad. Is there anything I can do?”

...How much Yusuke wanted to tell Ren about the prison. How much it cost him to get there, how much he hated it, how Madarame looked like a beaten dog and how it made Yusuke swell with self-hatred and guilt. He stared at the callused, hardworking hand, holding his own on the wooden countertop. It seeped warmth into his bones, and only now Yusuke realized how cold his hands were. His tired brain zeroed in on this small point of contact, and he hooked a thumb over Ren’s fingers, trying to prolong it and draw some consolation from it. Ren’s eyes shone knowingly.

“Are you sure you have all the essential things? I can borrow you something of mine, and we can organize something tomorrow. I’ll come visit after school,” he offered.

“...I think I’m fine,” Yusuke lied. The concern felt good, like a milky balm or warm syrup, he wanted more, he wanted all of it - but he was afraid to appear too needy. Ren kept giving, anyway.

“Do you have all the handbooks, supplies? Stuff to paint with?” Yusuke smiled wearily. He secured art paraphernalia first and foremost. “Summer uniform?” 

“...No,” Yusuke confessed, “But I’m just going to use a blue button-down. It’s no big deal. I don’t…” he trailed off, massaged his brow with a free hand. “I don’t have the energy to deal with this, to be honest.” 

“Everything will be alright. You’ll see. It will all settle. You can always call me if you need help arranging something,” Ren insisted quietly, squeezing Yusuke’s hand. “I’ll help you with the move once we fix this thing with the police. I’ll ask Ryuji to help, too. You know he’d be happy to.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden.” Ren leaned in, trying to capture his eyes from underneath his bangs. “You are in a pinch right now. It’s okay to admit it; it’s okay to rely on others. None of this is your fault.”

Yusuke inhaled sharply and yanked his hand away. 

Some of this _was_ his fault. 

“Yusuke…?”

He couldn’t look at his friend, because as perceptive as Ren was, he would surely see the anguish of sleepless nights and the nasty content of his nightmares painted all over his face. Yusuke wasn’t ready to admit to him half of the things that happened in the atelier. Nor did he want to, aggravated as he still was with the recollection of years of abuse that the investigation officer had wrenched out of him. 

“You called me last night.” Ren spoke softly, apologetically. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up… I tried to reach you after that, like, seven times...” 

“I’m sorry, I just had a rough night and… today was very busy. I should have called back, told you I’m alright.”

“Don’t apologize.” Ren stood stiffly behind the counter. “...I really want to do more, Yusuke. Allow me, please.” 

The artist did not manage to answer, because Boss came in, stepping awkwardly over a black cat that appeared out of nowhere and zigzagged at high speed into the warmth of the café.

“Yusuke!” Morgana squeaked, standing up on the hind legs and sinking the tiny claws into his calf in a show of enthusiasm. “How good to see you! Ren was beside himself with worry, are you ok? Did you have a busy day? How are things in the dorms?”

Yusuke let his hand drop and petted him fondly. He couldn’t necessarily answer; Boss didn’t pay attention, though, scrutinizing the kitchen. He started on the heavy duty, dirty dishes.

“Don’t forget to feed your cat,” he grunted towards Ren. The boy obediently trotted to the fridge to prepare Morgana’s food.

Yusuke nibbled on the curry, listening to Morgana chittering about the events of the day. That was nice too; it was filling the void in his ribcage in different ways than Ren’s touch had, but it was soothing. Even if he longed for Ren’s hand and silence again, there was certain comfort to be drawn from watching Ren and Sōjirō bustle around the kitchen; they were efficiently working in tandem, and it was apparent that they had fallen into a reluctant domesticity. Yusuke soaked in it. It felt like home, even if it was borrowed.

He got up once he finished eating. “Thank you both so much,” he whispered, slipping the dirty plate into the dishwasher. “It was delicious, Sōjirō-san. I am in your debt.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sōjirō muttered. “Take some with you. And there is some leftover tsukemono, too. Pack it for him, kid,” came the order. Yusuke wanted to argue, but was chased away from the kitchen and into the booth, treated with one more hot drink. Morgana curled himself into a donut next to him, pressing his warm, purring side to Yusuke’s hip.

He glanced at the Sayuri, smiling down at her child; whimsical, perfectly still and content in her fixed position on the canvas. On one hand, she looked distant, untouchable. Sacred, even. On the other, the fact that the painting of his mother hung on the wall of the café marked this place as his safe haven. It’s presence was cutting short the gap between him and the inhabitants of LeBlanc, diminishing the formalities, carving the space for him next to real people - and for once Yusuke felt like he belonged. Like he was accepted.

He allowed himself to rest and stop thinking until it was time to leave.

“I can walk you to the station,” Ren offered immediately, but Sōjirō cleared his throat loudly, apparently still pissed. “Ah, yeah… look, I gotta sweep the floor and help close up, but if you’d be willing to wait for me…?”

Yusuke shook his head with a smile.

“There’s no need, Ren. Obligation comes first. I’ll be fine; thank you for this evening,” he spoke softly, hoping Ren would reach out and take his hand again. “Thank you for the food. I… I don’t know how can I ever repay this.”

“Just take care of yourself,” Ren seemed to read his mind and grabbed Yusuke’s hand immediately. His touch was like hot current, lighting sparks in Yusuke’s nervous system from the fingertips up to his shoulder. “And travel safely, ok?”

“I will.” Yusuke breathed. 

That’s it. They had to seperate. There was no logical reason to stay on the doorstep holding hands anymore. _Just a second, a second more…_

“Well… Goodbye,” Yusuke loosened his grip, and Ren reluctantly followed. His hand fell listlessly and dangled down his side. 

When Yusuke was gone, Ren’s wistful sigh was heard as far as the kitchen. Sōjirō rolled his eyes; he threw a dish rag over his shoulder and blocked Ren’s way when he tried to get a broom.

“Kid.” He tossed an accusatory glance at his lovesick ass from above his half-glasses. “Listen to me. Is there... something you would like to tell me?”

Ren blinked at him innocently, eyebrows raised in perfectly feigned surprise. “No,” he said and dived under Sōjirō’s elbow to get to the storage locker and start on the sweeping. 


End file.
